


Day 28: I'm Yours

by thebright1



Series: An Ineffable Plan: A Canon Compliant Love Story [28]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), 6000 Years of Slow Burn (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley's Bodyswap (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Explicit Sexual Content, Ineffable Valentines 2020 (Good Omens), M/M, Oral Sex, Resolved Sexual Tension, Soul Bond, The Night At Crowley's Flat (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:00:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22943707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebright1/pseuds/thebright1
Summary: “Did you just use a miracle to get rid of my clothes?” Crowley asks.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: An Ineffable Plan: A Canon Compliant Love Story [28]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1620406
Comments: 6
Kudos: 164





	Day 28: I'm Yours

**Author's Note:**

> All of the stories in this series are linked, so if you want a full picture of what exactly is going on, please start with [Day 1: Chocolate](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22520329). 
> 
> All the works in this series are also posted as a chaptered work for easier reading/downloading: [ An Ineffable Plan](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23081191/chapters/55213303)
> 
> This directly picks up from where [Day 27](%E2%80%9C) left off.

Crowley has dreamed of making love to Aziraphale before. In his mind’s eye, he’s suave, experienced. In his mind, he is a master of charm, he is sex incarnate. He seduces, he anticipates. He teaches Aziraphale all about the pleasures of the flesh. Aziraphale gasps and moans, shocked and aroused at his own wild abandon, while Crowley chuckles at his lover’s naivete. 

Reality is turning out to be quite different. For starters, Crowley has never actually got around to bedding a human. It seemed . . . kind of weird, to be perfectly honest. He might be in a human corporation, but he is not a human by any stretch of the imagination. So having sex with one would be just . . . not right. Like a whale trying to hump a duck, or a horse trying to have sex with a cow. . . just . . . not compatible. And he had never needed to bed a human in order to perform any of his temptations for Hell. Show a little skin, ask the right questions . . . that was always enough. So, there’s that. 

Then there is also the fact that between whatever just happened to him, and the feel of Aziraphale sitting in his lap, he has lost all coherent thought. He is full of . . . love. It is burning through him in the best way possible. Aziraphale is still kissing him, pressing their lips together over and over, soft, sweet little kisses. He’s whispering words against Crowley’s mouth, talking. 

“I love you,” he says.

And “You are for me.”

And “I'm yours.”

The constant litany of little endearments is making Crowley’s head swim. He feels wonderfully, gloriously drunk. Drunk on Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale runs his hands through Crowley’s hair. Crowley arches into his touch, relishing the feel, until Aziraphale tries to remove the sunglasses from the top of his head and . . . 

“Ow!” Crowley says into his mouth. “That’s my hair and it’s attached, angel.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Aziraphale says back. He lets go of the sunglasses. They do not stop kissing. “I guess,” Aziraphale says in a breathy voice, “I am a bit,” he places another kiss to Crowley’s lower lip, and this time his tongue gingerly swipes at it. “Eager.”

Crowley pulls back, breaks the kiss just long enough to reach into his hair, quickly detangle the sunglasses and toss them aside. They clatter to the floor of his flat. Crowley looks at Aziraphale, sitting on his lap, and smiles. The angel’s lips are reddened and moist and Crowley leans back in to kiss him again. He fits their mouths together, slides his tongue across Aziraphale’s lips. Aziraphale sighs against him. Crowley tentatively rests his hands on Aziraphale’s hips. His wits somewhat returned, he is cautious about startling the angel. Each touch is soft, questioning. He opens his mouth, feels the soft glide of Aziraphale’s tongue against his own. He moans, and his grip on Aziraphale’s hips tighten, pulling him closer and then relaxing. _I could do this forever,_ he thinks. _Just kiss you, and kiss you, and kiss you._

Aziraphale is not of the same opinion. He pulls back from Crowley’s kiss, and begins to kiss Crowley’s jaw, his neck. He’s quite fervent, and there are even flashes of teeth that Crowley finds inordinately arousing. He’s been half hard and now finds himself throbbing against his constrictive jeans. He leans his head back, allowing Aziraphale to gently tongue his way down to his clavicle. He nips every so often and Crowley’s cock pulses with each tiny graze of teeth. 

Aziraphale’s hands are doing something around Crowley’s sternum, and oh. . . With one hand he slips the buttons on Crowley’s vest free. The other slides under Crowley’s shirt, fingers curling in the hair on his chest. 

“So many complicated buttons” Aziraphale complains gently as his teeth nibble on Crowley’s collarbone. He sighs, and then sits back, shaking his head and looking down at Crowley as if he has worn all these layers on purpose just to frustrate him. He snaps his fingers. 

And Crowley finds that he is completely naked underneath Aziraphale. Except . . . for his scarf.

So much for going slow. 

“Did you just use a miracle to get rid of my clothes?” Crowley asks. 

Aziraphale’s eyes are hot on his own. “I did,” he says. He raises one eyebrow a fraction, daring a response. He plays with the scarf, sliding a tassel up and down Crowley’s chest. He leans in again, close enough that Crowley closes his eyes, thinks he’s going to kiss him again. But instead Aziraphale says, “No way to get you out of those jeans otherwise, and I do so want to suck your cock.” Aziraphale smiles coquettishly.

Said cock is leaking, hard, and rigid against Aziraphale’s trousers. He feels completely and totally out of his depth right now. "I never thought I would hear those words come out of your mouth," Crowley says, gasping. 

Aziraphale’s head lowers, ghosting over Crowley’s chest. His tongue swirls over Crowley's ribs, his belly. He presses his face into the thatch of red hair above Crowley's cock and nuzzles him. "You waited so long for me," Aziraphale murmurs against the sensitive skin of his groin. "All I want to do is show you how grateful I am. How much I love you, how much I want you." Crowley's breath catches, as he watches the angel sink, down, down, down, until he is poised over Crowley’s cock. Crowley looks down and Aziraphale’s eyes meet his own as he reaches out the very tip of his pink tongue, slides it over the head, tasting his precum.

"Ohhh, Aziraphale," Crowley moans. Aziraphale's eyes close and he gives that look that Crowley knows so well. The same look he makes when a strawberry creme filled chocolate goes into his mouth, and Crowley feels his cock surge in response to the memory. Aziraphale tongues his way up and down Crowley's cock, one hand fingering Crowley's ballsac, the other rubbing up and down the demon's thigh. Crowley is going mad. He clutches at the leather sofa, squeezes his eyes shut, desperate to touch Aziraphale, worried he’ll be too rough, and then he hears Aziraphale’s voice, in his mind. Except it’s not his voice, it’s an image. Behind his eyelids. He sees his hands in Aziraphale’s hair, sees himself thrusting into Aziraphale’s mouth. And then he does hear Aziraphale’s voice, but that’s impossible, because Aziraphale has taken all of him into his mouth and it’s so hot and warm and wet . . . 

_Please touch me._

Crowley opens his eyes, and looks down, but Aziraphale has his own eyes closed now, his mouth bobbing up and down on Crowley’s length. Crowley’s breath is coming faster and faster. “Aziraphale, Aziraphale, are you . . . oh, yes, yes, yes,” he hisses, when Aziraphale’s teeth gently scrape against him. 

The voice in his head again: 

_Put your hands in my hair, tell me what you like, talk to me. Show me what you need._

Crowley complies. He slides his hands into Aziraphale’s hair, down to gently finger Aziraphale’s ears, his jawline, back up to his hair. “Feels so good,” Crowley pants. “Your mouth, so wet, and hot.” 

He can feel Aziraphale moan around his cock, and he can feel . . . _oh_ , he can feel through the bond how much pleasure Aziraphale gets out of that, how achingly hard it makes him. Both of Aziraphale’s hands are sliding up and down his thighs, feeling all the skin available to him. 

_More,_ Aziraphale says in his mind. _Talk to me._

Crowley does. “So good, so good, angel, oh, ohh. I’ve wanted you, how much I’ve wanted you.” 

Crowley’s hips are shifting and he is desperately trying to keep them steady. Aziraphale’s hands press onto Crowley’s thighs harder, thumbs kneading circles there. Crowley gasps, continues to offer up his litany of words, spilling secrets as he nears the edge. 

“Wanted you for so long, angel, oh, crazy for your mouth, oh, your fucking mouth, I’ve seen you eat so many things, and you look so fucking pleased with yourself, like each bite is an orgasm, and ohh, ah . . . just wanted to see your mouth on me. Ahh. So many nights I sat and fucked my fist and dreamed about you and your perfect, beautiful, mouth ahh . . .” 

_Now,_ Aziraphale says in his mind. _Give it to me, give yourself to me. You're mine. I love you._

“Yes!” Crowley cries, slamming his eyes shut. "I love you, angel. . . " His hips are bucking now, and he’s coming and Aziraphale is chasing him, sucking, swirling his tongue up and down. 

The world disappears. 

_I love you,_ he hears Aziraphale’s voice ringing in his head. _I love you, my dear._ He’s floating again, but not in the cold, vastness of space. He feels like he’s in a bubble, but not one he can see through. He has no eyes, he has no mouth. . . his body is nowhere and everywhere at once, but it’s not a concern, because he is so very content in the place where he is. He feels so peaceful and calm . . . more peace than he’s ever known. He is so very _loved_ here. It’s like the nicest and coziest dream he can imagine. Soft, and warm. Like a nest. _Feathers,_ he thinks idly. 

_Feathers?_ Aziraphale asks. 

_Oh, Aziraphale is here too,_ he thinks. In the bubble. This lovely bubble, full of feathers. How did Aziraphale get in here with him? 

Crowley can feel Aziraphale, a warmer, softer thing in this warm soft place. He doesn’t have a body here, he is non corporeal, but he cozies up to this warmer softer Aziraphale thing anyway, nuzzles against it. 

_So lovely,_ he hears Aziraphale’s voice. _Oh Crowley, it’s so very lovely here with you._

The warmer, softer thing that’s Aziraphale is pressing against him, and Crowley feels so very close to him, so very close, closer than anything. He feels, for one moment, like they are inseparable. Like they’ll never be parted again, and it’s such a wonderful feeling. He is so very full, and he’ll never be empty again. And then he feels Aziraphale squirm, just a bit, and he lets go, and the soft and warm of Aziraphale is fluttering next to him.

_Now, my dear, we can’t ._. _. can’t do that forever,_ Aziraphale says. He sounds regretful. 

Crowley can’t find his mouth to speak in this bubble place.Too much softness. _Too many feathers,_ he thinks again. 

_What are you saying?_ Aziraphale asks. 

He knows it won’t work, but he puts all his effort into speaking to Aziraphale through the bond anyway. 

_FEELS LIKE FEATHERS!_

He feels Aziraphale’s shock reverberate through him seconds before the soft feather bubble bursts and then he is thrust back into reality. He’s on his knees on the floor of his flat. His trousers feel sticky, like he’s come in his. . . Wait. . . Trousers? He looks down and sees legs encased in beige trousers. . . Looks up to see his couch turned over in front of him, the black leather . . . black satin? . . . smushed into the floor, four knob legs sticking straight up. He hears a moan, hears his own voice echoing, “Crowley . . .”. It sounds like it’s coming from underneath. 

“Aziraphale?” he asks, and . . . that doesn’t sound like his voice. He goes to stand, and his body feels . . . wrong. He gets to his feet and tries to walk to the couch, but it’s more like a sashay because these hips don’t work quite the way he expects them to. He looks around the side of the couch and sees a bare foot sticking out. A bare foot that is exceedingly familiar, because it is _his_ bare foot. 

The toes flex. He hears a muffled voice, and it’s his own, and oh . . . oh what has just happened can’t possibly be actually happening. . . .“Crowley, what the devil have you done? Where are we?” 

He reaches out, calls on his demonic strength and neatly lifts the couch into the air. Underneath, he sees. . . himself, face up on the floor, completely naked except for that silly silver scarf. 

“Oh!” his voice. . . his body’s voice says. “Oh my.”

“Aziraphale?” he asks cautiously, with Aziraphale’s voice. “Did we . . . Did I . . .

Aziraphale, in Crowley’s body, blinks. “I rather think you did.” He sits up, and tries to stand, and falls back to the ground, legs akimbo. He huffs, and then slides himself out of the way. Crowley, in Aziraphale’s body, gently sets the couch back down, right side up and he can see that yes, the couch fabric actually _has_ been transformed into black satin. 

“You changed my couch!” he complains. “I liked that couch.” 

Aziraphale, on the floor, gives him a very strange look. Crowley has no idea what it means because it’s not a look he’s ever worn on his own face before. “I think we have some bigger issues than the couch right now.” 

“Who has a _satin_ couch?” Crowley continues. “You don’t even have a satin couch.” 

Aziraphale tries to stand, falls on his arse again. “Well,” he says testily. “I’ve not spent a significant amount of time making love on _my_ couch, have I?” He tries to stand again. He looks like a newly born colt on shaky legs. “Oh, for . . . for Someone's sake, what is wrong with these legs?”

Crowley throws out an arm to give him a hand, but then finds that he has to take a step closer to actually be of any assistance because his fingers don’t end where he expects them to. “Yeah, you’ve just had your brain sucked out through your cock, might be a little shaky there.” 

Aziraphale looks at him. “Do you think that did it?” he asks. He takes Crowley’s offered hand and then looks down at Crowley’s front. “Oh, please fix my trousers, they look a mess. I’m afraid I wasn’t really thinking through what I was doing when . . . when we were . . “ 

Crowley pulls at the front of his trousers and shifts uncomfortably. He snaps his fingers, and that’s much better. He looks up and sees his own face . . . blushing. “I didn’t think my face could do that,” he says idly. He leads . . . tries to lead Aziraphale to the couch. Crowley finds himself getting dizzy with all the swaying… Aziraphale’s hips are not limber enough for his normal walk, so his whole body swings side to side. Aziraphale, obviously not used to having so much leg, knocks it into the couch, then stubs his toe before he collapses in an ungraceful, undignified naked heap. 

The couch, even though it’s _satin_ , seems a safe enough place for both of them to sit for the time being. “Were you trying to do something?” Aziraphale asks. “Something like this?” 

“What?” Crowley asks. “No! I don’t . . . I mean, I don’t think so. What . . . what have we even done?”

“Crowley, before . . . before we started kissing, what do you remember?” Aziraphale asks. He shivers suddenly. “Where are my clothes?” 

“You’re the one that miracled them away, angel, not me,” Crowley says. He sighs and snaps his fingers. Aziraphale is suddenly re-dressed, in a fresh clean set of Crowley’s own clothes. 

He looks at Crowley in alarm. “These pants are so tight!” 

Crowley snorts. “You get used to it. You were saying?” 

“What do you remember before we started kissing?”

Crowley opens his mouth, “I was-” he stops abruptly. What _had_ happened? “I was . . . floating . . .” He remembers the feeling of the presence standing behind him and shudders. “There was something . . . _someone_. . .” Aziraphale is looking at him very strangely. “Why, what happened to you?”

“I could feel you, Crowley. I was feeling all your emotions, and you wouldn’t let go of me. You said you couldn’t feel our bond anymore-”

Crowley looks inside himself, searches for the bond and is blown away. His eyes go wide with surprise. “Aziraphale, do you . . . do you feel it now?” Where there had been a hole, and before that a small tether, there was now a veritable bridge. “It’s like a highway.” 

Aziraphale smiles, and Crowley thinks, _I guess I can see why he likes me._ “It is, isn’t it?” he says, delighted. “Oh, Crowley, it’s so beautiful now.” He reaches out and grabs both of Crowley’s hands, and closes his eyes, and then . . . 

Crowley is back in the bubble. The wave of peace and calm that came over him returns. He feels something tickle him, and thinks, _Feathers_.

_No more feathers!_ Aziraphale says, sternly. _Now, look, I think I know what we did and how we can fix it._

Crowley floats. Aziraphale sounds concerned, but what could possibly be concerning here, in this lovely soft bubble? 

_Crowley, are you paying attention?_ Aziraphale asks. 

_Yes, yes,_ Crowley says, but he’s so content, it’s hard to not want to just fall asleep . . .

_Don’t fall asleep_! Aziraphale says. _I’m not sure what would happen if you do that. We can test it another time. Just . . . think about coming to me. Can you come to me?_

_I loved coming for you,_ Crowley thinks. _You felt so good. Felt so good to be with you, angel, after so long . . ._

_Crowley! Pay attention!_ Aziraphale sounds cross. Crowley feels hurt. The bubble shimmers around him, seems to be getting thinner. 

_No, no, no,_ Aziraphale says. _No, dear heart, please, please come to me. I love you._

Crowley feels the softness and warmth that is Aziraphale next to him. He leans towards it. _Angel . . ._

_Yes, that’s it,_ Aziraphale says. _I love you, come to me, my darling . . ._

Crowley pushes himself into that softness and warmth again, and he feels so very full again. Filled right up to the brim. It’s wonderful. The best thing he’s ever felt. 

Aziraphale is pulling away, gently, oh so gently, but Crowley says, _No, no, please . . ._

_Later, dearest,_ Aziraphale promises and part of Crowley sings to hear that word. _Dearest . . ._

Then he’s through, on the other side, and the bubble has popped. 

He opens his eyes, startled, and finds that he’s back in his own body, looking at Aziraphale, who’s clasped his hands. 

“There you are,” Aziraphale says gently. He smiles. 

“Aziraphale, what-”

“A soul bond,” Aziraphale says. “A true soul bond, that’s what we have now, not . . . not what I did to you back in the garden. A proper bond. Blessed by God Herself.” He is beaming. “It will, uhm, take some getting used to, I think. So we don’t get . . . switched again.”

“Switched,” Crowley says flatly. He is having an epiphany. 

“You know, switched around, in each other’s bodies.” 

“In each other’s bodies.” Lights are flashing in Crowley’s head. Harps are playing. 

“I’d much rather be wearing my own skin, my own face-” 

A choir is singing in Crowley’s skull. “Aziraphale . . .”

The music must be loud enough for Aziraphale to hear, because the angel has gone pale and his mouth is hanging open. “Crowley, she said to-”

“Choose our faces wisely,” Crowley finishes. His eyes meet Aziraphale’s own, and he smiles brilliantly. “I think we’ve got our solution, angel.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for all your comments and kudos! 
> 
> Come find me [on Tumblr](https://thebright1.tumblr.com/).


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